


Verzaubert

by thornwhipped



Series: baby you don't talk to me that way [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Consensual Mind Control, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Sex Before Feelings, liberties taken with the effects of Charm Person, romantic pining, trans headcanon friendly, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornwhipped/pseuds/thornwhipped
Summary: Lie to me, is the part that they both know he isn't saying, lie and tell me that I'm good.





	Verzaubert

 

Perhaps the best thing about bedding a wizard is the creative approach to the uses of magic. All of that knowledge about spells percolating in Caleb's head together with that well-concealed perverted streak he possesses makes for some very interesting ideas. A couple of them have gotten even Molly to raise his eyebrows.

It's fun to negotiate those ideas, as well, with how precise and blunt Caleb can be when he really wants something, when he's worked himself up with his own imagination to the point where he can't keep up his cagey attitude.

So really, "what if you used Devil's Tongue on me?" didn't come as a shock as much as it could've.

A different kind of shock, maybe. Just the suggestion made Molly dizzy with want, their stolen moments of privacy frantic with that image in his head. Finding a place and time where they could act it out safe and unhurried was the part that took longer. 

Now they're in this very nice hotel room, and there's no rush to get ready except for the pure greed pooling at the base of Molly's spine. He tries to pace himself as Caleb uses the nice in-suite bathroom to get clean at his own speed and in a way that doesn't put him into sensory hell, lets the anticipation gather until he's fairly thrumming with it. The promise to get to smooth out that beautiful, anxious mind with his words makes him drunk with desire. He's already undressed. It would be a waste of the heated room and soft sheets if he didn't get naked at the first opportunity.

Caleb is flushed by the time he comes in from the bath, from a combination of scrubbing and anticipation if Molly had to guess, but he can actually watch the blush spread further as he sees him stretched out on the bed, tail swishing lazily, until he's nearly the same color as his hair.

Molly rolls over, sits up and beckons in one smooth gesture. He doesn't want to draw this out too long and risk him becoming nervy.

"Run your limits and your wishes by me again, yes?"

"No insults, no long term orders, " Caleb answers immediately, brought back into focus by the routine. The other part of the question is more difficult. The words seem to stick to his tongue, syllables roughened by his accent as he stammers. "And I want – I want to be praised," he finally admits, casting it off like a weight.

 _Lie to me_ , is the part that they both know he isn't saying, _lie and tell me that I'm good_.

"I can do that," Molly says lightly, like it doesn't hurt to hear. He can't change Caleb's opinion of himself, but if he can make him believe it just for the duration of this game, it's already a success. "But I'll be checking on you, during," Molly holds up his palms when Caleb looks like he's about to start protesting. He doesn't get to be cavalier about his own safety like that, excuse you very much. "Which, yes, it'll be safer than taking you through the whole thing without stops. It'll make the experience on the whole a lot more...well, a lot more, really. Not a downside, I hope. Apart from that, I'm most looking forward to getting you off. Maybe making you get me off too. That work for you?"

"Oh, ja," Caleb says, relieved, it seems, to be talking about the physical side of the game. Molly can't help but notice right then that the towel he's wearing is quite brief. He also notices the way Caleb studiously avoids looking at the centerpiece of the room, the real reason Molly jumped at the chance to claim it before all others. But that's okay. They'll have a use for it soon enough.

Now that they're on the same page, the air changes in the room and there's no way they can keep away from each other. There's no eye contact to reinforce the spell. It's his voice that makes the difference here, Caleb's sparse weight leaned against his chest so he can feel the vibration of it when Molly speaks. His chin rests on Caleb's shoulder, still-damp hair tickling his lips as he hums into his ear, finding his voice.

"Listen to me, Caleb,"

The power he puts into his words is different in Common, not the flash of intimidation but laden instead with meaning and layers of melody to insinuate itself into the head of his listener. Caleb shifts against him, already more receptive as his head tips to the side, making himself more vulnerable to Molly's words on purpose. It's intoxicating.

"I want you to relax. You have my permission to think about nothing but how warm and comfortable you feel, how good it feels to listen to me. Just relax."

He weaves the Charm tighter with every syllable, draws the words out coaxingly, hands on his chest adding intimacy to the seduction. Molly can feel it the moment the Charm locks in, when all the tension drains out of Caleb at once. He drops into Molly's hold unresisting, with a sigh of relief like he's glad to be free from the burden of his racing thoughts.

"Good boy," Molly purrs, stroking Caleb's hair. The soft, wrecked sound the praise draws from him is sweet fire up and down Molly's spine. "Let's have a look at you," he says, gently steers Caleb to the far side of the bed with sleepwalk slowness, and stands him in front of the floor-length mirror, where he sways a little under the weight of the Charm.

His face is wholly open, made younger by the dreamy expression when Molly steps in front of him and tilts his chin up. Glazed eyes like shiny blue glass, mouth lush and pink, shaped into a soft "oh" of relaxation. So this is what the spell does to someone who gives in willingly to its effects, takes it as permission to stop thinking for himself. Molly drinks it in, his hand cupping Caleb's cheek, feeling a little faint from the twin surges of power and affection.

His fingers trail down Caleb's neck, over the sharp line of his collarbone, from a spray of freckles over his shoulder to an old scar. Even warm, his touch draws goosebumps.

Both of them shift a little. and the motion makes the alibi of a towel drops off of Caleb's hips, forgotten. He's half-hard already and growing more so by the moment just from the loose embrace of the spell and the heat of Molly's stare.

Molly takes a moment just to look. He doesn't really get the chance to do that as often as he likes, what with Caleb's insecurity about the whole bundle, body and soul and the past hanging around both.

And truthfully, the feelings those scars and the jut of bones inspire in him are a little frightening, something more profound than the general protectiveness to a member of his chosen family, too skittish to name yet. The lazy bloom of desire he feels seeing those loose limbs, flushed pink skin and the placid expression on his face is less complicated. He focuses on that as he steps around him, chest to his back again to bask in the contact and look his fill at the same time.

His hands skim Caleb's hipbones, over the dusting of reddish hair, play up and down his chest to cover his ribs, thumbs flicking at his nipples, watching the erection grow in response to his touch.

"Look in the mirror, Caleb,"

His head comes up with no resistance and he fixes his mirror image with an unquestioning look.

"See yourself the way I see you for a while, _Hübscher_ ," Molly says, letting the foreign word roll smoothly off his tongue.

Even enthralled as he is Caleb jumps a little to hear it, his face a mix of surprise, disbelief, pleasure. Molly grins behind his shoulder, glad to be giving him the experience. "That's right, you're fucking gorgeous and this is nothing but the truth," he says.

Caleb moans, ragged. His blush spreads, his back arches and his cock twitches, stirring even more as he experiences the simple egotistic joy of looking in a mirror and thinking "oh, I'm hot as fuck", for what's maybe the first time.

"Now why don't you keep watching, enjoy how good you look while I stroke that lovely cock of yours."

Caleb nods fervently, still spellbound by the display in the mirror, the planes of his body, his dick jutting out and flushed a very nice shade of red. His breathing goes deep and quick like that of someone having a very exciting dream.

"Good boy," Molly croons again, and Caleb sways in his hold.

A partner's self-pleasure is usually a beautiful thing, but the way Caleb brings himself off, grim and utilitarian, is honestly a sorry sight. It's like he never learned to treat himself well.

So now Molly is on a mission. With Caleb's back resting against his front, he pours a generous helping of oil into his palm. Once the heat of his skin has warmed it he lets it spill between his fingers. Caleb's blissed-out frame gives the tiniest tremor as it trickles over his cock.

The lightest touch, at first, just getting familiar with the terrain. He's done this before, of course, but this is supposed to be a learning experience for both of them.

It's interesting, jerking off a human. The skin slides over the hardness a little in his grip, not wholly taut, and he savors it on each long pull from root to tip. Everything is hot and slick with oil and he could keep going like this and never stop.

"Are you seeing this, Caleb? You look even better when you're like this, I could just look at you all day."

Caleb's eyes seem to be flickering between the steady slide of Molly's hand on his dick and his own slack, blissful face. He moans in response, and arches his back, stretching, the most luxurious and unselfconscious movement Molly has ever seen him make.

"Do you feel as good as you look? Because you deserve that. Just feel good, feel happy, let it run through you."

His tone drops into a more seductive resonance and his hand moves to reinforce it. He varies it from fast to slow, grip tight or loose, the lightest touch of his fingers to the band of skin below the head of Caleb's cock, stroking him until he's leaking and then drawing his thumb through the mess of precome to smear it everywhere.

"Let me hear it, _mein Hübscher_."

The words have just the effect he was hoping for. Molly has to slow his strokes to keep Caleb from coming right then as he writhes, head thrown back, showing off for the mirror in such a display that it makes Molly throb right along with him.

"Yes, so good, _so gut_ ," he pants, wavering in pitch and language as he fucks into the circle that Molly's fingers make. Molly loosens his grip, enough to keep him taut and aching for it but not enough to come. Then he snaps, loud and clear right next to Caleb's head.

"Hey Caleb. Up now, come on."

Caleb's eyes clear a little but his stare stays heavy-lidded, full of lust, meeting itself in the mirror, and his hips keep bucking in Molly's grasp, unwilling or unable to stop thrusting into his hand.

"Oh god, Mollymauk!" he cries out, and Molly has to try very hard not to look too smug.

"Still with me, dear? Expectations met?"

" _Ja_ , Molly, please, don't stop," Caleb sounds so pleading, voice soft and wrecked, and he feels heavier than his light frame. Molly smooths some hair away from his face and steers both of them down onto the bed in the interest of not falling, settling Caleb in his lap, his limbs still closer to dreamlike heaviness than their usual faintly tense state.

"Of course, dear. Back down, there you go," he says, his voice resonating with it, and passes his hand in front of Caleb's face. He falls back into the spell even quicker this time, and that softness clouds his face again.

Molly slows his strokes until he whimpers for him and he feels his cock throb against his palm, then pulls away, but only for an instant and only to cover Caleb's hand with his own and guide it to his dick.

Their fingers tangle together, wrapped around him, Molly guiding him into a twisting motion, grip tightening below the head on each pull.

"That's it, makes yourself feel good. Keep stroking, but stop if you get close."

Caleb hooks one thigh over his, displays himself even more thoroughly. His expression is fixed in tranced concentration as he watches his own hand move to the rhythm that Molly's set. The strokes are slow, but he's squirming with it anyway, and it doesn't take long until he has to slow and then stop, chest heaving, doing as he's been ordered with no hesitation but looking so wrecked with wanting it makes Molly pity him.

"Where else does it feel good to touch yourself? Show me," he croons.

Caleb skims his knuckles over the dip below his ribs, over his chest, brushes over his nipples with the barest touch that still makes him shake as he keeps tracing patterns.

His grip is loose around the base of his dick and gradually he starts stroking again, slow at first but quickly escalating to a desperate pace. In the mirror Molly can see his toes curl, his thighs tense the way they do when he gets close. But the between Charm and the orders he can't help but have be endlessly patient, and he stops again, hair hanging in front of his face as he pants. His cock looks huge, swollen with blood, and Molly has to grind against the heel of his hand to relieve his own ache a little.

"Good boy," he says again, voice rough with lust, and Caleb makes that choked-up sound, like the praise is hitting him in a place of no defenses. Still obeying his instructions his hands wander anywhere on his body but to his straining dick, to the column of his throat where he pauses briefly to squeeze softly in a way that makes Molly dizzy with possibilities for another time. Then he mouths at his own fingers, tongue tracing the knuckles, pushing into his own mouth.

Molly wants that mouth on him badly, right this instant, but he can delay the gratification a little if it means getting to watch Caleb like this for a while longer.

He grows more desperate the longer he edges himself, and when Molly brings him up again for another check-in it's somewhere between cruel and kind. He waits until he's just wound down, and then he snaps his fingers. "How are we holding up?" he asks cheerfully.

" _Bitte, bitte,_ Molly, please!" Awake, Caleb's arm is shaking from the effort not to bring himself off right away.

"Please what? Please let you come?"

Caleb moans, sounding absolutely wrecked, the pitch of his need making him helplessly honest.

"...please keep telling me no."

Molly draws in a surprised breath. This might be one of the hottest thing he's heard someone say. He doesn't deserve this man. "Oh, _Schatz_ , of course. So beautiful, so good for me, back down now and keep going until I allow you to come."

Caleb sinks back in even faster this time, the denial pulling him deeper into Molly's hold. His head hangs down, his chest rises and falls heavily as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge.

He pumps himself for a few strokes, stops and digs his nails into his thigh, watching in the mirror the way his cock throbs even untouched. A few more strokes, his hips jerking into it, stopping again, one more slow pull from base to tip, stopping, the breath punched out of him in sobs. Even the enchanted patience seems worn close to snapping. His cock is as hard as Molly's ever seen it, practically dripping precome, looking like it'd take just a touch to set him off.

"My good boy," Molly says. Lust is clutching at the base of his spine and his heart is full with some unnamed tender emotion. "Come for me now."

Caleb starts stroking himself again immediately, but his back bows even before that, like it took nothing but Molly's words to make him break in the end. That lovely sex flush covers his whole body now, his muscles draw tight and Molly snaps his fingers, bringing him to right in the middle of orgasm. He sees the force of it crash over Caleb's lucid mind as he yells himself hoarse, wordless, his languages deserting him as he comes so forcefully it spatters the mirror.

Then he drags him back down, letting the aftershocks blur into the pleasant haze of the spell. Caleb's pliant in his arms as he pulls both of them down to sprawl across the bed, mirror forgotten. He looks happy in a way that tugs at something in Molly's chest, like he's heard news so good he can scarcely believe them, like something took all of his troubles and packed them away. The intensity of the experience has left tear tracks on his cheeks.

Molly kisses them away inbetween murmured praises, no more seductive performance, only earnestness left in his voice.

"So good, so good for me, you were so shy about this but look how well you did. I can't believe how lucky I am to have found you."

"Mollymauk..." Caleb says from sleeplike depths, uses his full name in that careful, precise way of his even as his tongue trips over the syllables.

Molly's chest hurts, like something's taken a grip on his heart, like the sun itself is behind his ribs, there's nothing he can think to do with the feeling except cover Caleb's face in kisses.

"You ridiculous, beautiful man," he says in between kisses, "your face, your voice, those clever hands of yours, that lovely head and everything that's inside it, I adore it all."

Caleb blinks contentedly as Molly cradles said head in his hands, petting his hair, and there the truth is, waiting like a mugger to strike him over the head. Of course he means what he said, but it's a shock to realize just how deeply. That he adores the brilliant thoughts in that head but just as much the scorched earth and the once-bitten wariness. He's in trouble. By the moon's face, is he in trouble.

Never let it be said that he can't enjoy himself as he goes down, though. If he's condemned to be ended by those feelings – and it from the way his heart seizes up with a joy that's almost pain it seems like he very much might be – then he will commit every detail of the scene to his memory. Caleb's comfortable satisfied sprawl, hand resting on his hip, the tiny curve of a smile on his lips, the eyes half-closed and still drifting in enchanted bliss.

This time it's Molly who brings himself off embarrassingly quickly, hand between their bodies as his leg drapes over Caleb's, his fingers finding the thrumming nerves and stroking just so. Looking at his face, it takes almost nothing for him to burn up like a fuse, the thrum of his heartbeat concetrated into brilliant pleasure where he ruts against his palm and groans into the curve of Caleb's freckled shoulder. He has to bite at his own lips to keep words from pouring out that he wouldn't be able to take back. This is too good to ruin with a reckless desire for a nebulous more. The truth will have to wait its turn.

Molly waits to get his composure back before he breaks the spell for the final time, but that glowing feeling doesn't want to fade, just curls up in his chest and gets comfortable. He feels a pang of sadness as Caleb's brows draw together in a small frown, but somehow he's glad, too. That serious expression is _him_ , too, and there's not a part of him he'd want to miss. He can sense the question, though, caught in Caleb's throat, and quickly pre-empts it.

"The whole truth, every word of it," he says, not sure if he's succeeding in keeping his tone as light as he wants it. He expects Caleb to argue the point, but there's nothing but silence, first. Then a quiet sigh.

"Thank you, Mollymauk, for giving me what I asked for. It was...yes, it was peaceful, even with the exercise you put me through." He laughs a little, and Molly feels whatever's curled up in his chest stir to life and purr.

"You're welcome, darling. I believe I owe you some secret fantasy of mine now."

Trouble. Such trouble he's in. 


End file.
